


Tomato-Red Toes

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Comedy, Drabble, Explicit Language, Post-War, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-09
Updated: 2008-12-09
Packaged: 2018-10-27 14:53:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10811244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: A game of 'guess what' lands Oliver in hot water.





	Tomato-Red Toes

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** A second one-shot in the Tomatoes Verse.

Oliver was beneath the tree shaking the packages with his name on them and making Lavender angrier by the second.

"Quidditch gloves. It has to be Quidditch gloves," he said, shaking a green package.

_It was._

He dropped the green package and picked up a red one. This one she had taken extra care to wrap so that he couldn't possibly guess what it was. The box was so small that it was scarcely large enough for a quill.

"It's a racing broom, isn't it?" His eyes lit up more brightly than the faerie lights that graced their Christmas tree. "Is it the Firebolt 3000 model?"

_How the bloody fuck did he know that?_ She'd had to learn a new, very difficult—make that insanely difficult transfiguration charm to shrink that broom down to thimble size.

He reached for another package and began to shake it. "It's a—"

"No more!" she said emphatically. "You say another word and I'm taking them all back to the shops."

"You know," Oliver said, looking up at her from where he was squat beneath the tree, "once upon a time, you weren't quite so testy and mean-spirited."

She turned her icy glare upon him. "Once upon a time, I wasn't quite so pregnant with an insensitive prat's overactive baby."

Oliver's tone changed somewhat. He sat down beside her on the sofa and pulled her close. "Bad day?" he asked, pressing his hand against her bump of a stomach.

"I'm a hormonal mess. This baby's been kicking me all day. I'd swear, if I didn't know better, that she is practicing for a career as a professional Quidditch player already, and—"

"She?" Oliver asked.

"It's my story to tell. I get to assume whatever I want." Lavender said. She was certain she sounded like a spoiled child and, frankly, at the moment, she didn't much care. Her feet ached, her emotions were in hyper-drive and her body had swollen to enormous (yes, perhaps she was being a bit overdramatic, but there was that hormones thing to consider) proportions over the past month. "Then you come home making wild guesses about gifts I've worked so hard to disguise. And would it hurt you to be wrong a bit more often?" she accused.

Oliver pushed her back on the sofa, reached for her swollen feet and took one of them between his hands. Then, he began to rub. He applied firm pressure to her instep with the pad of his thumb, making slow circles up to the ball of her foot and back to the heel. It was, for lack of a better word, bliss.

Lavender heard him whisper an _Accio_ spell and she opened her eyes to see Oliver painting her big toe with bright tomato-red polish. He grinned up at her and she closed her eyes once more and enjoyed the pampering. She was rather certain that the child in her stomach was in actuality a rabid squirrel turning cartwheels in an attempt to bust free.

He finished painting her toenails and set the bottle of polish upon her stomach. "Be still and watch," he whispered.

With the baby's first kick the bottle wobbled; with the second, it fell over; and with the third, it shot off her stomach and onto the floor.

Oliver was elated. He dropped her feet suddenly and rushed to pull on his cloak.

"Where are you going?" Lavender asked incredulously.

"I have to go buy a toy broom right away. Quality Quidditch Supplies has a brand new prototype. I have to get it before someone else does. This baby's bound to be a star."

"Oliver, wait!"

It was too late. He had stepped out the door and Apparated right away, too excited to even wait to get to the designated Apparation point. He was back with a sharp "crack" mere moments later, with a large, blue, broom-shaped package tucked under his arm and an infectious grin upon his face.

"You're mental! You know that, right?" she asked, shaking her head with a smile.

"Certifiably so," he agreed. "You love me?"

"Far too much," she said.

He came back to sit with her on the sofa, and she leaned into his warmth. "You really can't go by me though. I've always been a bit daft when it comes to falling for sexy Quidditch players."

Oliver, never the jealous type, gave a hearty chuckle. "Yeah, well, I do know your weaknesses."

~Fin.~


End file.
